


Have Heart My Dear

by Tirlaeyn



Series: Painted Shards of Glass [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Conversations, Love Confessions, M/M, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-11
Updated: 2017-06-11
Packaged: 2018-11-12 18:03:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11167176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tirlaeyn/pseuds/Tirlaeyn
Summary: Will and Hannibal discuss the nature of their relationship.





	Have Heart My Dear

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a poem by Rupi Kaur. 
> 
> 'What am i to you', he asks  
> i put my hands in his lap  
> and whisper 'you  
> are every hope  
> i've ever had  
> in human form.'

“What are we now, Hannibal?”

Will sits turning his glass of whiskey to catch the light. He takes a sip, and puts it down. Then picks it up again.

Across the room, Hannibal watches Will, admiring the softness of his curls, the delicate way his fingers hold the glass, how his bare feet rest just so on the wood floor. They look cold, he thinks.

“We exist in many states at once,” Hannibal finally answers. “Some obvious. Others are obscure and volatile.” 

Will snorts. He looks up mostly with his eyes, the ghost of a smirk on his lips. 

“That is not an answer, Hannibal. That is a very pretty way of avoiding the question.”

Hannibal catches Will's gaze, holds it, tries in vain to push through all his thoughts and feelings. But Will looks away. He stands up and begins to wander the room, and Hannibal is reminded forcefully of those early days in his office in Baltimore. Half a continent and light years away now. It's equal parts endearing and frustrating, but that has always been Will.

“Perhaps if you clarified your question, I could give you a more acceptable answer.” 

Hannibal knows that to get a genuine emotion, he has to give one, so even though he is loathe to do it, he lets some of his frustration bleed through. Will stops and shifts the curtains to peer into the night.

Hannibal cannot actually see Will at this angle without getting up. He is tempted to, to go to Will and show him with hands and lips and tongue the truth of his desire. But he doesn't do it. Such an action would still only be a half truth, and he isn't sure it wouldn't push Will further away instead of bringing them closer. He waits instead, trying to guess by sounds what Will is doing. 

“What is obvious,” Will begins, his voice soft and far away, “is that we are indeed conjoined. We cannot be satisfied without each other. The obscure and volatile part concerns whether we are pleased or pained by such knowledge.” 

Hannibal's fingers play with the scalpel in his hands as he waits for Will to speak. They tighten as his chest tightens when the words come. Footsteps mark Will's measured progress from directly behind Hannibal to somewhere off his right shoulder until he can finally see him in the corner of his vision leaning against the china hutch. Hannibal does not turn his head. 

“You want to know if I am pleased to have you here. I have always enjoyed your presence, Will.”

It isn't a tenth of what he could say, but it's enough to bring Will back to his chair. Or perhaps that's the whiskey. Will sits and takes a drink, one finger tapping on the glass. Another drink and he seems to come to a decision. Setting the glass down again, he rises and crosses the room to sit next to Hannibal. Desire to touch flares in Hannibal, to feel the roughness of Will's hands, to run his fingers over the scar on his face, to sink his fingers into those soft curls and pull him in for a kiss. Hannibal's eyes soften as his lips part just slightly, but his has hands stay still. 

“But we aren't the same as we always were.” Will says. “Or perhaps we are more who we are than we were before. What do you see when you look at me now? Who am I to you?” 

Hannibal turns his hands palms up, and lets his heart speak.

“You are every hope I've ever had. Every dream I've ever dared. The strongest love I've ever felt.”

The scalpel still lies across his right palm, and he can feel Will staring at it. His hands tremble, but he doesn't move them. Will slowly takes hold of the scalpel, and Hannibal holds his breath fighting every instinct. Will turns it over once then sets it aside. His eyes are shining as he places his palm on Hannibal's cheek and leans in for a kiss.

“I love you too.”

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Run" by Snow Patrol.
> 
> Feel free to come yell at me on tumblr @diea-kierlyn.


End file.
